She opens another drawer, and withdraws three ice cubes, which she plonks into her glass.
“Fiji?” I ask.
I think to myself Fiji is somewhere I've always dreamt of going, and if I am wearing this?
This couldn't possibly get better!
If only this weren't a job that I had to do.
“And this assignment is for Corban Winthrop?” I ask, hesitantly.
“The notorious Dot-com billionaire, himself,” Isa confirms with a smirk.
Her expression is hidden behind her cats-eye glasses, as she motions to a set of matching Louis Vuitton suitcases.
“I've packed for you, the car is waiting, and unless you plan on being late, or saying no to your last job with me, dear Bexley, move your cute, pert and profitable ass!” she intones, already impatient with me.
Isa stands up and comes around the front of the desk.
I get up from that wonderful, aromatic leather chair, sad that my visit was cut short.
I walk over to Isa and extend my hand.
She gives me a professional hug, which I return, warmly.
“Of course, I accept,” I smile. “Thank you.”
There is not a hint of resignation in my voice, although I want to sigh because I wasn't hoping for another extended assignment.
The only reason I’m taking this is so that, if I need to come crawling back to her, I can.
She glances at me, and for just a second something passes between us. A look that is not all business. A look that almost shows some tenderness.
But, then, she smacks my bottom and is gone, yelling at her receptionist.
This is proving to be far more interesting than I thought, and I wanted to get started with my newly won freedom a lot sooner.
Oh well, patience is a virtue, as they say.
I manage to get the luggage into the elevator, and then take them past security.
Again, with the slow pat down!
Ugh!
I lug the suitcases out onto the street, one by one, shoving them into the back seat of the waiting limo so I can make myself presentable on the ride to JFK.
I'm impatient, and the driver sighs in exasperation, figuring he's lost part of his tip because he was too slow getting the stuff into the trunk.
I give him a fifty, just to let him know it's not his fault.
Of course, Isa spared no expense, but this hefty price tag comes out of my share of Corban's bill, which I'm sure will be considerable.
I won't see a penny of that until after everything is said and done, though.
That's the curse of being an independent contractor.
I look at the passing scenery, noting the bustle of the people, the flow of the traffic.
I try to imagine the kind of man Corban is, reviewing my tabloid-based knowledge of this new, and hopefully last, assignment.
All I associate with Corban is that he's dated a string of beautiful women and is filthy rich.
The only one of the set who's gotten a high-profile breakup out of it is “Rowan”.
And, she's been trying like hell to get right back into her relationship with him.
Now he thinks he is going to silence her with high-profile rumors, and a glittering diamond on my finger.
Rummaging through my carry-on bag, I see what Isa has prepared for my trip.
I sigh because she's spent thousands on designer items that I won't need for two short weeks in Fiji.
I settle on a pair of tight black jeans that are loose enough for the long flight, and high - but not too high - black pumps.
Then, I choose an ethereal white shirt, with crochet accents at the elbows and a low V-neck, revealing just enough, to make any man wonder what the rest looks like.
One doesn't give everything away, you know.
I shrug out of my clothes, noting the sly look the driver gives me in the mirror.
Sticking my tongue out at him, I finish getting changed into my travel clothes.
I push my garments back into the carryon, zipping it shut.
I make a face at the driver, and pretend to kiss him, giving him my best come-hither look.
He just laughs and nods, and then concentrates on driving me to the airport.
I decide my minimal make-up will have to do.
Even if Corban's seen all my shots with full make-up, I won't be doing that in the tropical heat.
The man will just have to deal with it, as he's getting me on my last assignment.
I tell myself it's a small price for him to pay for my presence, especially if I'm signing a nondisclosure agreement.
I am so haughty!
I giggle.
Leaving my hair loose and free, I run a comb through my curls, turning my light blonde hair nice and wavy before picking up a pair of designer sunglasses and relaxing back in the limo, trying to imagine what this sort of lifestyle must be like.
But it's hard to sit still, and the traffic is thick.
I get bored staring out the limo windows.
Whipping out my phone, I quickly Google Corban Winthrop.
There's almost nothing but links to his business interests. There is one for his business partner, Clint Hale. Another is an article about his business connections to Noah Stone, the wondrous man who every woman in New York seems to have dated or wants to date.
I notice with some interest that Noah and Corban both date strings of beautiful women, without messy breakups, and I resign myself to definitely having to sign that nondisclosure agreement in my future.
I'm okay with this, as long as my real name, Ava James, stays out of the press, and Bexley Fabbraro stays where she belongs - on an exotic vacation with Corban.
As long as I can be Bexley, and he doesn't get me into trouble, everything will work out.
Seeing Noah Stone's picture does bring me back to when I was in foster care, after my adoptive parents died.
I would see him on television, or one of the online shows, and I would make a wish that Noah was my father.
In my fantasy, he would whisk me away, and I could have a real family.
But those dreams are long gone, because, as I've found out as of late, happily-ever-after doesn't exist.
When the limo stops, the door opens, and I'm busily looking in my clutch for a tip for the driver.
Suddenly, I hear the smoothest, male voice in the world.
It stops me in my tracks, not a hint of a New York accent, and the man who owns it sounds cool, calm and collected.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he says, and there is a hint of humor in that voice, that makes my heart skip a beat.
When I look up, raising my sunglasses on my head, my first good look at Corban Winthrop, other than pictures, takes me by surprise.
Corban has straight but thick, chocolaty brown hair, with tones of darker black streaking it.
His stubble accents his square jaw and gorgeously long, but handsome face, taken up by large blue-green eyes, and a slightly larger nose, with lovely full lips, just perfectly made for kissing.
His eyes are spaced evenly apart, accented by his thick, dark eyebrows, with slightly high arch, but I barely notice those.
Corban's eyes and lips are so distracting that I forget the rest of his face even exists.
He's the kind of man you can't help but notice across the room; a man whom you know is an expert kisser at first glance.
My attraction to him is so apparent, and my guard so entirely down, that I quickly struggle to get it back up before he can react.
“Darling!” I smile.
As he reaches out, taking my hand and lifting me out of the limo, I feel it.
There is the warmth of his hand as he grasps mine, and suddenly it's like sparks are flying as he returns my smile.
His teeth are brilliant white, but not perfectly straight.
I make a mental note, and his score goes up, because, in my opinion, men with perfect teeth are dull.
Corban runs a hand through his hair. It looks perfectly styled
, but there's not a hint of product in it, and I want to touch his hair.
I want to run my fingers through it. I want to bury my nose in it and just smell his scent.
His eyes are the most distracting part of him. They change with the light, as he moves, first seeming some shade of green and then some manner of a blue tinge.
Every single part of his face, it's all fascinating to me.
His skin is flawless of course, and as he towers over my five-three frame, I gauge that maybe he's about six feet two. Maybe taller? I suspect it may be why he dates models?
I can't stop smiling because I've seen those pictures.
Me, a model!
And, with a man this gorgeous holding my hand, and an impressive Harry Winston rock on my finger, this can only be great fun!
When I got my head on straight and decided to deliver the girlfriend experience sans the sex, Isa thought I was crazy!
The pay wasn’t as good, but it was better for me.
I had no desire to sleep with men for money anymore, I could still pretend to be their arm candy however!
For the first time in forever, I can't wait to get my hands on a man!
My brain starts to go in a naughty direction, and I feel my body becoming alive in ways that haven't happened in a long time.
I know I'm in big trouble as we stroll into the air-conditioned terminal, hand-in-hand, garnering stares from all directions.
Of course, I'm sure it's Corban who's getting most of the attention.
“You're absolutely marvelous,” he whispers.
As we pass a mirror, I see myself laughing lightly at his comment, brushing it off as a gorgeous woman should.
My acting is Oscar-worthy; I think to myself.
But, there is a look in his eyes I haven't ever seen from a man in my company, and suddenly I am aware of my feelings.
I regain control of myself, but not before there is a tiny seed of fear planted deep in my heart.
It's only there for just a moment, but the knowledge of it terrifies me.
I nonchalantly smile as we approach the exclusive VIP check-in desk.
People in the regular queue are probably murmuring about him being one of those stuck up VIP's, as the limo driver pulls our cart full of luggage behind us, but not a part of me cares as I slide my passport forward, and as he puts both our tickets down.
“You're both going to Fiji together?” asks the girl at the counter as she smiles at Corban.
Her eyes silently spell out that she knows how lucky a girl I am, and she winks at me conspiratorially.
“We're newly engaged,” Corban responds, in that voice of his.
He smiles down at me, and I return his adoring gaze, trying to balance evenly on a fresh pair of heels.
Because, when he looks down at me, I suddenly find it's almost impossible to stay upright. I swoon, lost in those eyes...and struggle not to just tip over!
As though he senses my imbalance, he wraps a strong arm around my waist.
“I merely wanted to surprise my love with a special trip,” he laughs throatily.
The tone of his voice makes me melt against his arm, and I find myself tickling the little hairs on the back of his neck.
I imagine that the rest of the travelers seeing the both of us putting on quite the show are probably as amused and envious as our agent.
“Such a sweetheart,” I comment.
“Only the best, for you, dearest,” he murmurs.
Corban pauses as he looks down at me, studying me for a long moment before I realize he's going to kiss me.
It's not that I expected anything less, after all, we're 'engaged,' right?
But then his smooth lips are on mine.
The kiss sets my entire body on fire, and my arms wrap around his neck before I can even think about what I'm doing.
From the back of my mind, I can hear someone typing, and asking some meaningless question about how many pieces of luggage we are checking.
And then I'm opening my mouth to his!
Before I fully realize what is happening, Corban is kissing me, and I'm kissing him back, and then my mind has gone entirely blank.
And all I can think about is how much I want to keep kissing this man, right here in the middle of a crowded airport.
“Excuse me, Sir,” says the limo driver, tapping Corban on his shoulder, and coughing lightly.
Corban stops kissing me abruptly. He looks at me, with a quizzical face, as if he has just awakened from a deep sleep.
Then, he looks directly at the limo driver.
The driver is pointing to the girl behind the counter.
“Sorry Mr. Winthrop, but um...” he says, a bit flustered.
“Oh! Pardon us!” Corban laughs, a little nervously. “You'll have to excuse me.”
He looks slightly embarrassed.
Corban hands her something, and she types some more into her ticketing console.
The agent smiles her bright smile, trying to be discreet, but not entirely pulling it off.
“You and Ms. James will be escorted directly to the plane from security, as you are running a bit late. Have a lovely holiday!” she exclaims brightly.
I can taste her envy.
Her face is tight and scrunched as she hands us back our passports, and I keep my face as neutral as possible as I follow Corban to security, who says absolutely nothing as the silence washes over me like a plague.
I forgot!
Dammit!
I forgot my number one rule!
Never check in with the person you are leaving on vacation with, just in case, because your real name is your most precious commodity.
Of course, James is one of the most common last names anyone could have.
I'm trying to think of a way to cover my mistake as we walk along, together, holding hands.
I could just as readily be Bexley James as Bexley Fabbraro, I think.
I hope against hope that Corban wasn't paying attention.
My eyes search his face for any clues, but his beautiful face gives up nothing.
He has a slight grin, but what man wouldn't, strolling through an airport with a pretty girl?
By the time we get through security, I'm confident that he didn't even notice my passport, being too distracted by the kissing.
“So... I'm guessing that was an accident?” he asks, as he hands me my passport.
Oh, shit! He knows!
“What was?” I reply innocently.
“I'm not supposed to know your real name is Ava James?” he says.
Corban smiles at me, looking a little sheepish.
“Look, uh, 'Bexley',” he says.
I feel my anger rising.
“I'm not going to lie; I did take a peek,” he confesses, with a shrug.
“Ugh, seriously?” I say.
I unclasp our hands and start off by myself towards the gate.
I can't believe I did something this amateur and stupid!
Hating myself for being so dumb, I stalk off.
This is bad.
“Come on! It's not that bad! 'Bexley' just sounds so unsophisticated compared to Ava,” he says.
“Don't patronize me!” I storm.
I stomp all the way to where we are supposed to wait for our escort to the gate.
“You had no business looking at my passport!” I tell him.
“What if we get arrested?” he asks.
He is staring at me intently. His eyes are boring into my soul.
“What?” I glare at him. “What are you talking about?”
“What if we get arrested? And I have to bail both of us out of jail? And I don't even know your real name? That's important information!” he exclaims.
I can't tell if he's trying to joke and make light of the situation, but his eyes are glinting in the reflected sunlight and are that greenish-blue color again, and I can't help but smile.
Then, he puts a finger under my chin and tilts my head back so that I can't escape his gaze.
I feel myself melting inside.
“That doesn't make it okay, I'm here on business, remember,” I whisper. I don't dare make any louder sounds.
“Business, meet pleasure,” he says.
Corban takes my face into his hands, biting my lower lip.
“Because this doesn't feel like business does it?” he whispers back, his breath brushing against my ear.
A slight moan escapes my lips.
Despite the fact that this is work, I can feel my guard is shutting down, and I know he can sense it too, and he's playing on this, but I allow him, I let him bite my lower lip, and draw me into another mind bending kiss, trying to melt away the anger because the passion behind the kiss only intensifies when I'm angry at him, and it's the way he grips my hips, just so, when I open my mouth to his, that only confirms one thing: we are both deeply attracted to each other, and this makes me a very, very stupid woman.
Chapter 2: Corban
May 2, 2017
Two amazing kisses.
Two kisses that have me hooked on this woman.
Takeoff is seamless.
But, I hold Ava's hand the whole time as she seemed to be quite distressed about the possibility of a plane crash on departure.
She's a self-professed terrible flyer, as she explained.
I love flying because my parents divorced when I was young, and I was yanked from Los Angeles to New York at least twice monthly to fly by myself, so I got used to sleeping on planes.
The rocking motion was comforting when I was flying alone.
I remember the flight attendants being so lovely back then.
Of course, right now, the attendant is blonde and perky, big breasted and full of that hidden tartiness I love in a woman.
Ava is a nervous wreck as we finish our ascent.
She could easily give the women in those flight magazines a run for their money if only she weren't so short.
Ava is stunning, with a small heart-shaped face and high, well carved aristocratic cheekbones, and wide, almond-shaped eyes that reveal their very light blue coloring.
They remind me of someone, but I can't place who.
Her lips are full but small enough that they just perfectly balance her elegant face.
She looks younger than she is, because, from her dossier, I know she's twenty-five.
But she's not wearing a face full of makeup like in the picture I was shown.
Exposure_A Stone Billionaire Series Novel Page 2